Between the Lines
by KorosuKa
Summary: There is a fine line that separates the sane from the insane, the victors from the losers, and those who fall from those who stand. But little by little, they learn that construction arises out of the ashes of destruction.
1. Restless

This fanfiction begins in episode 5 of Zankyou no Terror (Hide &amp; Seek), when Lisa is taken in by Twelve, but before the train bombing. For a while it will keep close to canon but it will gradually change. Twelve x Lisa. Other pairings may optionally be included later.  
I'm not a native English speaker. I apologize for any errors or mistakes.  
Enjoy

* * *

Nine's head buzzes. He shivers and presses his palms onto his temples. It's hot. He kicks the blankets off of him. From another room, he can hear mingled words. A ringing noise in his head grows louder. But the words return, still meaningless, and echo through the room. He shivers again and pulls at his hair. Sounds bounce back and forth and he's not sure whether someone is shouting from behind the window or whispering into his ear. It's so hot. He rubs his hands over his face. The words become louder. He shuts his eyes tightly and clenches his jaw.

"Nine?"

Everything grows silent.

His eyes open. His back is coated with sweat like dawn on the fields. He tastes ashes in his mouth and gags.

"Nine?" He hears from the other side of the room.

When he turns his head, Twelve is right beside him and opens his mouth. The words that come out sound foreign and far off; as if he's not really there. He blinks a few times, but his vision continues blacking out for fractions of seconds even when he keeps his eyes wide open. Twelve remains where he is, only occasionally blurring. Then a cold hand touches his forehead. Instantly a wave of heat rolls over his body, followed by a shiver. He gasps for air and quickly pushes himself up from the bed.

All noises fall back into place. There's rain tapping the window and clocks ticking rhythmically. Twelve's breath is right next to him and the bed creaks beneath him. He shivers violently and tries to hurriedly wipe the sweat of his forehead with his trembling hand. The only taste left in his mouth is that of blood. His cheeks stings.

"Are you awake?"

Nine runs his hand through his hair but then rests it onto his lap where it stops shaking. He slumps his shoulders and focuses on the ticks of the clock.

"Twelve," He mumbles. But there's nothing he wants to tell him.

The silence lingers but Nine's eyelids are light. He slips out of the bed and walks past Twelve, who yawns and stretches. "Again?" The latter murmurs, half-asleep.

Nine splashes some cold water onto his face. His skin is tingling. It's still so hot. He hears the rustle of clothes behind him. Twelve rubs his eyes and yawns again, not looking any more awake than he had before. Nine sighs. "Go to bed."

Twelve smiles but returns to his bed without a word. The water runs for another five minutes before Nine sits down in the couch. He turns on his laptop and runs a program. For a moment his fingers linger above his keyboard, before he clicks a few buttons and starts hacking into the police department files. The brightness of the screen pains his eyes. He makes sure it's turned away from their beds so it won't disturb Twelve.

He pushes himself to concentrate, even though he isn't looking for any particular information. Gradually his mind becomes a table of numbers and codes, of binary and hexadecimals, of links and syntax. Until there's nothing else left and he quietly blanks out.

Only once he accesses the files does his awareness rise again. He feels how he slowly sinks back into the couch. It's as if he didn't have a physical form for a while. As if he forgot he was a person with a pumping heart, an empty stomach and sweaty hands. It's 28 minutes past four, he sees on the clock. He doesn't know how much time has passed, since he didn't bother to check it when starting. At least two hours must have past, he muses to himself, and starts calculating the approximate duration of everything he did. Circa three hours and forty minutes.

It's 34 minutes past four. Ever since they were living in that loft he had made a rule for himself, that until 5:36am he wouldn't wake up anyone else. A fairly pointless rule, mainly because of its unnecessary detailed timing, but he didn't disobey it once. Not conscious, that was. He inhales deeply before pushing himself up from the couch. His back cracks and he stretches himself lazily. The floor doesn't feel as cold as it usually does and he looks at his bare feet. His fingers too are numbed out from typing. He lies down on his bed, on top of the blankets. The cold kept him from falling asleep, from the burn of his dreams.

* * *

"Good morning," Lisa said in a hushed voice as she entered the living room. She stroked over her nightdress and then rubbed her upper arms. The two guys were sitting on the couch. Nine was frozen as a statue with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, whilst Twelve sat Indian style, throwing his phone up and catching it again. He answered her cheerily, whilst Nine didn't even look up from his cup. The only movement that gave away that he wasn't completely out of this world was when he occasionally sipped from the cup.

"You're up early," Twelve said.

Lisa cocked her head to the side and frowned at him. It was about six thirty. She then looked at her feet and traced the pattern on her sleeves with her fingernail. "I heard both of you were awake so I got up as well."

"Oh", He responded, "Are you a light sleeper?"

He leant forward, and put his phone on the coffee table, devoting all his attention to her. She braced herself and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "I do sleep bad."

"I'm a light sleeper too, but I fall asleep as easily as I wake up." Twelve continued as if he was doting on a conversation about sleeping habits.

"I see," Lisa nodded softly, before daring a look towards Nine, who still ignored them. Twelve caught her glance and she quickly returned to studying her feet.

Twelve stood up and picked up his empty cup from the coffee table. "Nine is a heavy sleeper."

"I-is he?" She uttered. She didn't know why she felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. He had read her so easily; perhaps that made her feel dumb. She rubbed her upper arms. It was surprisingly chilly in the room.

"Definitely," Twelve continued, rinsing his cup and placing it next to the sink. "Once he's asleep, it's really hard to wake him up. Right, Nine?"

They were both ignored, but Twelve smiled as if the silence had been a confirmation. "Let's make some breakfast!"

Lisa walked behind him and then noticed a window that was opened. A shiver ran over her spine. "Um, Twelve," She stammered, "Can I close the window?"

He turned around and studied her. She blushed and took a small step back, feeling her cheeks heat up as his eyes skimmed over her body. She crossed her arms tighter.

"Of course. And wait here, I'll get you a sweater and some socks." With that he swiftly walked away, whistling a tune to himself.

She stiffly moved to close the window. Even though Nine wasn't watching, she felt as if he did so anyway. With her back turned to him she could feel his criticizing stare following each move she made. Almost naturally she became very aware about her outworn nightdress, her unshaved legs and messy hair.

Twelve had quickly returned with a light blue sweater and blue socks. She had already forgotten about them but quickly thank him. He told her she could shower now, and she gladly accepted it. Without another word she disappeared into the bathroom.

Twelve didn't need to look over his shoulder to know Nine had his eyes pinned on him. He peered out of the window and noticed a single feather drifting up to the skies. Nine's unspoken words lingered in the air. Or maybe they should be considered spoken, for he could hear them echo clearly in his head.

He didn't suppress a smile when he spoke. "I won't get too involved."

But where should the line that separated them from getting "too involved" be drawn? Who could tell him when he would be too far in? No one could, he mused almost happily to himself.

* * *

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	2. Terrified

This chapter continues ep 5 (Hide &amp; Seek) from Lisa's POV.  
Please remember that I am a non-native speaker and I don't have a beta.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Aren't you afraid?" Twelve asked teasingly.

Lisa had been lying in bed for a while without being able to fall asleep. She noticed him hovering over her and felt as if she was awakening from a hazy dream. "Afraid?" She repeated slowly, "Of what?"

Twelve grinned. "Of us!"

She cocked her head to the side, and shifted somewhat uncomfortably. A colder part of the pillow touched her neck, and she realised that she was still hot. The fever was dropping, but lazily. The question rung in her head. It took her a moment to understand what he was saying. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Because we're terrorists!" He cheered as if he had anticipated just that question all along.

She stared at the ceiling and bit her lip. The first thing she did was fling the question to the back of her head, where it persistently asked for attention but didn't receive the priority to be answered. Yet now became a hard time to do so. It was impossible not to know who they were, what they did. When she thought about it, she started fiddling with her sleeve. Yet, what else was she supposed to do? If she would truly fear them, she would have to leave them. Her stomach sunk at the thought. She eyed him, almost expecting the fear to suddenly well up. But it didn't. Of course it didn't. They were more than bombs placed and panic spread.

Suddenly Twelve lifted her chin and yelled "Boom!" in her face.

She jerked away from him with a startled yelp, hands raised in mid-air as if that would protect her. Her stomach tightened sharply. He almost looked apologetic but then started laughing before he could stop himself. It took her a moment before she could lower her hands and the pain in her stomach faded. His laughter filled the room and she inhaled slowly. After all, what had she excepted? She wondered whether he had really wanted to know the answer to the question. Whether he was afraid of the answer too. She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled, caught by his laughter. It was childish and mischievous, but not ill-willing. Their eyes met and he grinned. His joyfully twinkling eyes and that smile that still reminded her of the sun. Then he stood up, with a last wink, and turned around. Plenty of things a terrorist could keep himself busy with, she thought. Yet when he reached the door opening she propped herself up on her elbows and inhaled sharply.

"I'm, I'm not afraid." She said, louder than she had intended too.

He curiously looked at her over his shoulder. "Oh?"

Her heart beat loudly. She was nervous. But not afraid. Or was she? The line was harder and harder to draw these days. "I'm not afraid of you," She muttered, more to herself than to him.

He left her with a smile. She didn't know whether he had been mocking her. Did he believe her? Did he care? She fell back onto the bed, sinking away in the old mattress and thick pillow. Pondering over whether Twelve believed her or not wouldn't change anything, would it? But she had to worry about it, even though she knew how useless it was. She had to worry about everything all the time. It was as if she was running around in circles instead of going towards a goal. It tired her out. She pressed her face into the pillow and inhaled deeply. It smelled of him.

* * *

Lisa stood on the balcony. The view wasn't truly spectacular. Despite the loft being spacious and clean, it was situated in a dreary part of Tokyo. Which was logical because, as she assumed, they didn't want to live in the middle of their own target. The view she had had out of her apartment had been much wider, allowing her to gaze over the busy streets and the thin line between the crowded roads and parks. Here, the buildings were duller, the people didn't look like dots when she squeezed her eyes, and the humble park was out of view. But she liked it better. There was a certain relief that came with observing what was in front of her without having to fear what was behind her.

She missed her mom. And she cursed herself for that.

If only that ache in her guts that returned with every memory would stop. If only she could quit thinking about how her mother suffered and how alone she was. But it had been bound to happen. Her mother had accused her of wanting to leave when she didn't, to the point where she started accusing herself of wanting to leave. Now she accused herself of having left. Of course it wouldn't have been easy, she had known that guilt was bound to become part of her daily life. But after all those years of coming home to screaming, to shaking and pulling and dragging and crying. All those years of accusation and violation and-

Lisa braced herself and leaned a little over the balustrade. A warm breeze brushed through her hair and she inhaled the summer air. Rays of light hit her pale skin but the warmth was not quite there.

It had been bound to happen.

* * *

It was silent in the living room. She looked around, but there was no hint of life. On the coffee table lied a note, saying they would be right back and that she shouldn't leave the house. There was a smiley drawn in the lower right corner, but even without it she could have guessed the curly handwriting to be Twelve's.

Perhaps they had left her without saying anything because she might have wanted to go with them. Or she might have wanted to know what they would do. Or she might have asked them how long they would stay away. Or whether they would return. She rubbed her upper left arm, telling herself they were right for leaving without telling her. Even if she might've just waved them goodbye and asked for them to be careful.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach tightly. It was hard not to see that she was a nuisance. All she ever did was take up place.

They hadn't picked on her at school for no reason. She had changed schools three times already, and had watched the same story unfold every time. She didn't belong. She was a seat too many in the classroom. A word too many on their lips.

Lisa sat down on the couch and pulled up her knees to her chest. She didn't know why she was thinking about that now. It was always somewhere in her head, present in each of her thoughts. She was still a bit feverish; perhaps that played a role in it as well. Perhaps everything would get better. Perhaps everything would get better.

But even at home she hadn't been at home. And where was she now, to feel belonged? She had intruded upon them. Nine was right when he had said she was a bother and she shouldn't be with them. What could she possibly mean to them?

She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Stop it, she told herself, you aren't getting yourself anywhere. Stop running in circles. If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten. There had to be something she would be able to do. Surely, she could hardly do anything with a computer or a motorcycle, let alone anything concerning bombs. But there were other things. Her eyes travelled through the room. Twelve and Nine were normal humans too, in a way. They had their basic needs and things they had to take care of. Things she could do.

She noticed how clean it was. There wasn't too much dust anywhere and there were no dirty cups and plates or clothes left behind. She also wouldn't dare to reposition anything, since she didn't know where it belonged. It became apparent to her how unfamiliar she was with their house. It had been a long time ago since she had visited anyone. It stressed her out to feel so unfamiliar with her surroundings. But still, she couldn't deny a vague sense of happiness for being there either way.

She entered the kitchen. There was something she could try.

* * *

The tension was heavy in the air. It bundled in Lisa's guts and made her dizzy. Nine was talking to Twelve through the phone. He was sitting behind his laptop and typing away. They said something about a fake backdoor, in a tone that made it clear that it wasn't in their favour.

It was about the bomb. The police hadn't found it. Or at least they hadn't done anything about it. They must've known where it was. She had heard Nine saying the riddle was easy enough. She covered her stomach with her arms as if it would lessen the pain. They couldn't turn the bomb off either. If they couldn't find it, innocent people would die. Her head grew light at the thought. She leant against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. Nine didn't see her, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest on the other side of the room. He was typing hastily whilst continuing to speak with Twelve. His sentences were long and she didn't follow most of it, but she hadn't heard him sound so distressed before.

Meanwhile Twelve was out there, probably to dismantle the bomb manually. She hoped that he could do it, and that he would return safely. She wrapped her hands around her knees and wished that everything would end well. The phrase echoed in her head, again, again, again, until it lost its meaning. The cramps in her stomach grew worse.

Nine stopped typing. He mumbled something under his breath, sounding even more stressed than before. She watched him, and could see that he held his hands in mid-air above his keyboard. Pop-up screens appeared on his screen. He looked like a statue.

She felt her blood run cold when he started shaking. Suddenly he pressed his hands to his head, as if he heard something loud. She froze. The sound of him chocking on his breath was painfully familiar but her mind went blank.

He was trembling all over his body, whilst the only thing that washed over her beside fear, was powerlessness. As he fought for air, he looked up to the screen as if it was a monster. Hours seemed to pass while she desperately begged for nothing else but them to be safe. Her heart was pounding in her throat and she saw white dots on her vision. She wanted to close her eyes but she couldn't, she couldn't turn away from him.

He started grasping for air, loudly, as if he had almost drowned the moment before. His hands were still shaking, but not pressed against his head anymore. Each breath he took grew deeper. She could see sweat shimmering on the back of his neck.

"Don't tell me…" He uttered, "She's the one…"

Then he closed his laptop, and threw it aside convulsively. He picked up another one from underneath his desk, starting to regain his composure, and opened it.

Finally she closed her eyes and rested her head against her knees. She still listened carefully to his quick breath, as if there was no other sound in the world. Even his words when he spoke barely seemed to reach her. At least he had calmed down somewhat again. Her head throbbed and her guts still twisted. She had to return to her room. Carefully leaning on the wall, she stood up. Stars tainted her vision as well as white spots. Her knees were wobbly but she could feel the blood returning to her head.

Suddenly Nine hurried past her, pushing her out of the way. She bumped into the door, glad that at least she hadn't fallen. Nine disappeared without another word. Or maybe he had said something, but she hadn't heard it. She slowly closed the door behind him, noticing her hands were trembling. She thought of Nine and of Twelve too, and she knew she was afraid of what they did. And it wasn't the bomb that scared her, it was hearing their cracked voices. She could watch shards pour over the city and buildings collapse, but the tremors of their shaking hands hit her hardest.

Everything was going wrong.

* * *

Lisa had lied in bed and lost consciousness when they had returned. When she had woken up she had still been nauseous, but she came to check on them either way. Nine hadn't spoken to her. Twelve only smiled. She hadn't watched the television. The radio hadn't been playing. No news had reached her. She helped doing the laundry the other day. Holding Nine's T-shirt in her hands, she wondered why some people were called heroes and others terrorists.

* * *

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	3. Breaking

Lisa POV. This chapter is not directly linked to the episodes in the anime. Title applies in both good and bad ways.

Enjoy~

* * *

Lisa blew gently over the steamy cup of ramen. She gazed at the two guys over the edge of her cup. Twelve was still wearing his shoes; he had just returned from getting their dinner. The scene almost looked normal, or even homey; three teenagers sitting on the couches together, enjoying some hot ramen on a quiet night. Almost. Between every blow she inhaled the thick scent that seemed to clot in her throat. She kept reconsidering letting the cup slip from her hands and kept telling herself that she couldn't do that. She tried to distract herself from it by observing them. They were already eating. The sound of their chewing and swallowing was too loud. It became harder and harder to ignore the knot in her stomach.

"Lisa," Twelve suddenly said. It didn't startle her, even though she had been absent-minded. She had awaited, no, dreaded this moment. "Is something wrong?"

"No," She whispered, a lot weaker than she had expected to.

"Don't you like ramen? I bought the same one you had last time, you seemed to like that one."

"I do," She answered, glancing towards Nine who didn't even seem to notice them. How tempted she was to just let go of the cup. She was so nauseous. But he had bought it especially for her. Her favourite kind, shio ramen, with dried seaweed, eggs and menma. She wasn't sure whether to be surprised that he had remembered it so well.

"If you aren't hungry, you can eat it later," He said.

She looked up to him, and for a split second a weigh was lifted from her stomach. He smiled and she quickly averted her eyes. She wanted to recoil, to tell him she was alright. Or that it was just because of her fever, which had almost passed. But both of them understood that it was too late for that.

He paused eating for a moment to give her a warm smile, "Put it in the kitchen. Maybe you'll want it later."

It should have been embarrassing. It was silly and rude not to eat the food he had provided for her. But she didn't feel ashamed. She was so glad. So glad that he understood. She stood up quickly, unintentionally spilling the soup a little. As soon as the hot liquid touched her fingers she froze and a loud, shattering noise filled the room.

There was a moment of dead silence in which she didn't even feel the pain. It were but fractions of seconds. The scalding heat clamped to her legs and shards bit into her skin. Her mouth opened but not a sound came out.

Twelve rushed to her side. "Don't move," He motioned for her to stay where she was.

Her eyes were brimming, not just because of the burns and cuts. She stared at her hands, empty now. Why did she have to be so useless? She couldn't even decently hold a cup of soup. One damned cup of soup. Why did she have to fail at every single thing she did?

"Are you okay?" Twelve broke her train of thoughts. She didn't look up to him however. Her view was blurry. She didn't make a noise whilst the tears fell, one by one.

"Lisa?" Suddenly his hands were holding hers. He didn't yell. He didn't shout. He didn't say a word. He just held them. She slowly squeezed his hands and inhaled deeply.

The corners of his mouth curled up, almost automatically. He spoke calmly and kindly, "Let's get you out of this mess."

She nodded weakly and stared at the pool of hot ramen and shards of ceramic. Her bare feet were turning a fiery pink, littered with lines of red.

"Don't move," Nine said, and it took her a moment to get he was talking to her specifically. "Make one step and you'll cause more damage than there already is."

Twelve pursed his lips for a moment, as if he mused over something, and then stepped closer to her. His shoes gnashed over the shards. She almost backed away when he stood so close to her, but Nine's friendly advice reminded her not to. "I'll pick you up."

Her eyebrows rose. "Pick me up?"

"Yes," He said and opened his arms, "I'll carry you to safety."

"You'll just carry her from one mess into another," Nine stated matter-of-factly, still merely observing the scene as if he was not quite sure what he could do best. Then he put down his cup and disappeared into the kitchen.

Lisa bit her lip. They were so close that she had trouble breathing. They let go of each other's hands. He bent down a bit, wrapping his arm around her waist to throw her over his shoulder. She immediately grabbed his shirt and pulled it with shaking hands, trying hard not to move out of her place. "D-don't do that," She muttered. Unwillingly, she remembered being carried out like that before. Just flashes of images and echoes of voices. They had been a bit taller and broader than Twelve. They had told her that if she liked the lake so much, she should just take a dive. And she had.

This was different, she knew, but still her hands didn't let go of his shirt and she knew she would push him away if he tried to lift her up like that. Twelve slowly straightened himself again. "I'm sorry," He moved to her side. "Then we'll do it this way, is that okay?"

She couldn't do but nod weakly and hold her breath as her picked her up. Bridal style, he carried her away. It were only a few steps, but Lisa's heartbeat grew faster and louder. She could feel blood rushing through her head and a tingle in her stomach. And not an entirely bad kind, for once. Twelve smiled brightly, with his cheeks flustered. She wondered whether he had ever looked that bright before. The space between their bodies grew very small and very warm.

Nine marched back into the living room with a few cleaning utensils. "We've got some band aid and other stuff in the bathroom. Make sure to use the disinfector."

Twelve insisted she should not walk, and she let him carry her to the bathroom. There she sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," He reassured her immediately and kneeled down in front of her with a first-aid box. "You didn't do it on purpose."

"But I, I broke you cup and-"

He shushed her, gently. "That's ok. It's just a cup."

With that, she was silenced. Words lingered on her lips but she didn't dare to say any more. She liked to think that he didn't feel the unsaid thoughts weighing on the silence. Carefully, Twelve removed a few shards from her skin and disinfected the wounds. It went slowly, and as he focussed on each single cut, she focussed on his face. She paid attention to his long eyelashes, his messy hair and his lips that probably still tasted like ramen.

"You're stronger than I thought," He suddenly broke the silence.

She hadn't expected him to say anything, and kept quiet.

He didn't look up from the cut he was disinfecting. "You haven't made a sound."

"You have very steady hands," She muttered after a pause. "Being a bomb-dismantler, I guess that's normal."

She meant what she said but her words came out so powerless. The corner of Twelve's mouth twitched. His face was still. The silence that ensued made her realise how exhausted she was. It was a hollowing kind of tiredness. All she could do was stay still and hope she could return to her bed soon.

He raised his head to her. A crooked smile was plastered over his doubt. "Something wrong?"

"No." They both heard yes and didn't have to wonder whether the other had heard it too.

He ran his thumb over a long scar. His face was blank. "This one looks old."

"Does it?" She breathed. "Maybe it's from a certain explosion." It could have sounded cool, referring to their first meeting as if the explosion had been a casual part of their encounter, at least to her it could have been cool. But her voice was emotionless just like his eyes. All she felt was his cold finger slowly stroking the scar.

"It's definitely from before we met," He said as if it mattered.

The day they met. The heat in her feet reminded her of the summer sun that day. She almost saw the swimming pool in front of her again. Maybe Twelve felt the splash of the cold water on his skin again, because she thought he looked like he was drowning a slowly on the inside. Her eyes trailed back to the scar. "I've been bullied with more than water."

The blank expression melted from his face and she almost wished she hadn't said anything. He didn't move for a while and she didn't dare to speak anymore.

"Tell me," Twelve suddenly said, almost tenderly, "What were you thinking about?"

He had bent his head down slightly so that she couldn't see his face. Instead, she eyed his curly hair and wondered how soft in would feel between her fingers. The words just echoed in her head, before she could recognise a meaning in them. "What I was thinking about? When?"

"Before I told you to put you cup away." He continued. "Something has been bothering you."

She studied the ground before daring to look at him. "I just," Her breath hung in her throat. The previous silences still lingered in the air. It felt as if there was a thin glass between them and every word ricocheted against it, leaving behind little scratches and cracks. He looked up to her, as if he felt the presence of the glass between them as well. As if he had carried it with him all his life. And he smiled. "Go on."

"I wondered," She carefully allowed the words to fall over her lips, "Why Nine didn't go to the hospital with his burn. And, why the whole bomb thing failed so badly that time. And why you bomb things, and terrorize Tokyo without actually harming-" She inhaled shakily.

Twelve didn't look surprised to hear her words. His eyes were a shade of sadness that weighed heavy on her chest. Again his hands reached out for hers. He held them as if they were made out of porcelain and if he would let them go they would break just like cups of soup did and dreams too.

* * *

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	4. Pale

Nine's POV. This chapter happens between the episodes.

**Enjoy~**

* * *

Days grew longer between the explosions. Nine woke up at night, the fire of the bomb burning in his back. He felt as if he had been branded by her, the mark still fresh on his sweaty skin. Sometimes he heard voices calling out for him, or for mercy, or for anything he couldn't give them to silence them. When he finally awoke the only thing left was the taste of ashes in his mouth that made breathing not only harder but disgusting. It was as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the air left for him.

He didn't get up out of bed anymore. He just lied there, entrancing himself by counting the seconds until they became hours and he calculated how long he had been awake as soon as the sun rose. Sometimes the ticks of the clock were smothered by Twelve's breathing, and sometimes the latter gave away that he was awake. Together they ignored each other and watched the distance between their beds grow beneath closed eyelids. It grew like hunger did, worse and worse until it reached a certain point where it wasn't felt anymore. It stopped demanding their attention and evolved into a mere presence in the background.

He wanted to blame Lisa. Because he could almost feel her presence lingering between them. It was strange and it didn't belong. She could not help them and she could not be with them. And every morning he told himself he would make sure she would leave. Because they didn't need that. They didn't need another obstacle on their way, another burden to carry with them.

Yet when she sat there in the couch with her slumped shoulders and powerless arms as her only shield, she hurt him the most. Because they had all been like that. They had all been faceless puppets with stones on their tongues, unable to speak. Just waiting for a sign or word to wake them up; someone that would tell them to live and breathe and laugh. Something Twelve and he had learned themselves to do, but he had found himself not quite capable of it still. Yes, he had sat there too. He had asked and pleaded without his voice, too.

And if he would tell her to leave, she would. He had run through all the possible phrasings and again and again came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. She would leave without much resistance, if any at all. She would not make a fight or beg them to stay. Easy to remove. But when her starry eyes found him, that old stone sunk back onto his tongue.

He remembered when Twelve had given him the chance to save Lisa. And he had given Lisa the chance to save herself. Yet he knew that the strength so save someone was not so much about bombs and blood as it was about words. But what were words to someone who never said _I love you_? Who never said _I need you _or _Please don't leave me alone_, or _I'm scared_?

* * *

Lisa pleaded for reconsideration without making a single noise. They acted blind to her questioning stare and deaf to her wavering voice. This was something that had to be done, Nine believed. They were not going to get distracted.

Except, Twelve slipped. Nine felt mouth run dry as he heard those words.

"You're pale."

It was 6:58am and the curtains were closed. Artificial light whitened everything. Even her messy hair lost its vibrant dark tone and her blue sweatshirt, which she had borrowed from Twelve, seemed misty. How could one distinguish whether something was whiter than usual? Nine turned his head to stare at the curtains. In his head he had the exact image of the view he would be having if they weren't drawn.

Lisa had not responded with words. There was merely a soft, somewhat blank look on her face. Perhaps she did look a little pale. But now she knew that Twelve was watching her. Now it was clear that the silence that brooded between them, which had never been merely a foggy thing but had been present like a brick wall, was not impenetrable. Their ignorance in favour of their goal was not unwavering anymore. She was seen. And they could not step back from acknowledging her feelings and thoughts anymore, much like one couldn't just glue a brick wall back together.

Nine pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. He was starting to run hot. Why had Twelve made that mistake? What had he miscalculated so that he thought those words would inflict any change?

He could see the gradation in the curtains growing stronger as the sun started climbing over the horizon. For a moment everything became blurry. He closed his eyes. Twelve wasn't paying attention to him at the moment. His voice still rolled through the room but Nine only half caught what he was talking about. It was hesitantly answered by Lisa, who had been described as pale yellow not one but twice.

His eyelids fluttered and everything returned to its usual sharpness. A headache began to press on his temples. He caught Lisa's stare on him and returned it. She quickly averted her eyes as if to apologise for noticing his existence. He ran his hand through his hair. She eyed him again. He almost found himself waiting to say the only reasonable words that had been lingering on his lips for the past few minutes. _She's ill. Put her to bed. _But they remained on his tongue. They did not feel like that stone he felt in his mouth when he couldn't speak. Keeping them to himself felt much like restraining himself from desperately trying to tape stones to a hole in a wall.

"Nine?" His own name pierced through his head and for a moment he couldn't even tell whose voice it was. The sharp noise had felt unpleasantly much like a physical stab.

Twelve smiled towards him. Slowly the sting of his name melted away. Bright as the sun, he thought, but Twelve's eyes stripped him of his emotionless face. He felt bare and exposed, as if his thoughts and feelings were all engraved on his throbbing head. And Twelve smiled softly.

It hit Nine that Twelve had not slipped at all. That the cracks in the silence had been there for a while now, but Nine had chosen to be oblivious to them either way. The fragile strings of words and glances that were tying Twelve and Lisa together before him were now flung to him as well.

_She's not one of us_, a voice in the back of his head hissed. But it sounded weak. He wondered whether he was trying to deceive himself again, like he now realised he had been doing before, and had been a pointless waste of time. She wasn't like them, but maybe she wasn't far off. There was something, he allowed himself to believe, something that tied them together no matter the differences. Perhaps it was that wish of recognition, to be a flicker of existence in another's mind. The silent craving to be meaningful, to grow bigger than just another shadow in the dark, a faceless figure on the streets. Maybe Lisa wanted to be remembered too.

* * *

Nine tapped his fingers over the caps of pots and packages of all sizes and shapes. Pills, pills, what kind of a headache did he really have? One wrong pill and he could be knocked off his feet for the rest of the day. The tip of his finger trailed over a rimmed cap. Two of those and he would be dead. That's how easy it was. His fingertip drew circles over the cap again and again, until the ribbed edge numbed it out and he could barely feel it.

Footsteps were headed towards the bathroom. Their step was light and quick; at first it was hard to tell whether it was Twelve or Lisa. He counted the steps, and he needed but three to tell that the strides were too short.

The door opened soundlessly. Nine didn't look up from the box of medications. "Lisa?"

"Eh," She started, "Twelve asked whether he should turn off the lights."

"No," Nine responded, suddenly caught by the resemblance to Lisa's not unusual "I'm fine".

"Oh, okay." She licked her lips, as if she wanted to say more.

It was fairly dark in the bathroom. A few rays of sunshine slipped through the window and hit the wall to provide him of enough light. He usually didn't need more than daylight, until sunset. But he didn't need them to darken the rooms for him because of another headache. Lisa blended in nicely with these mild tones. Both her naturally whitish complexion and her pitch black hair were soothed into greys and Nine had always preferred the milder contrast. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach. Twelve had said people did that to protect a vulnerable area, as if their hands and arms were a shield. Nine didn't understand the point of such a weak shield, or such a gesture, or what she was protecting herself against. He didn't think he needed to understand such matters, as long as Twelve did. His legs were beginning to hurt from kneeling but he didn't shift. Lisa too didn't make a move. It felt as if he was having a contest with her of which only he was aware; who was better at keeping still? The ridiculousness of this thought was obvious even to him, but he froze as if he had to win either way.

She looked down, losing his imaginary competition, and seemed to search for a solution to her situation on the spotless tiles. "Something wrong?" He asked, formulating his words somewhere between wanting her to leave and allowing her to stay. She parted her lips and he could already hear her negative answer, but she stopped herself and shut her mouth again. Nine waited patiently, ignoring the stiffness in his legs and listened to the clock. Tick, tick, tick, he started counting almost automatically.

She finally caught his eyes again, a hint of feverishness in them. It seemed she had figured out just what she had wanted to tell him all along. As if all her thoughts had melted into a conclusive bundle that she was still carefully weighing word per word, but that met with an abstract line of sufficiency when it came to phrasing her emotions. A sort of determination kindled in her expression. He barely noticed he was holding his breath. "You're pale."

The seconds started following each other irregularly as those two words, thin and meek, were presented to him. He almost cracked a smile.

* * *

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	5. Frail

**Twelve's POV. This chapter is linked to the events in episode 6 "Ready Or Not", but doesn't stick to it entirely.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

A tingle of yellow sparked in the back of his head. Twelve blinked a few times, as if he could bring it back like that. It took him a moment to understand the words that had kindled the colours. She had asked him whether he had ever dropped something.

He always threw things up in the air to catch them again. Be it his phone, Nine's glasses, the keys of their apartment or a grenade. His hand moved swiftly according to the course of the object. It seemed to be just another automatism, like writing or smiling. He briefly wondered whether illegally buying chemicals or driving triple the allowed speed would ever become such dulled habits too.

"I'm pretty good at catching things," He answered with a wink.

In between blue and green, with a grey undertone. That's how he would describe his own voice. A colour not too often seen in daily life, which he, for some reason, appreciated. It was not overused in commercials or always hovering over them like the sky did. Lately he had also noticed that when he talked to Lisa, it grew a few shades greener. The thought that her yellow blended into it made him happy.

And such a frail thing happiness was.

Except for playing with his phone, he barely moved. His fingers were still stiff and he was reminded of it every time they curled around the object. The thought of completely sinking away into the couch was comforting. He had been sitting there in exactly the same position for about a half hour now, with his head back and his legs stretched. At least the bomb had been finished on time, after hours of late night work.

"Twelve, um," Lisa stammered. She was standing right in front of him, firing off her pale words at him. "You, you were going to tell me, something."

He cocked his head to the side with a playful grin. "I was?"

It was easy to tell that Lisa knew he was playing dumb. Whether she ignored it or understood it, he didn't dare to guess. "You know, you," Her voice grew quieter, dimming the colours in his head, "You would tell me about, you and Nine."

"I would?"

She didn't respond, but didn't look away either. Her expression was soft and almost melancholic. It didn't let go of him. He found himself surprised (if he dared to admit it, _pleasantly_ surprised) with her persistent stare. As if his face grew transparent to her and she could flip through the pages of scribbly thoughts by blinking. She was staring not just into the obvious, because indeed he was tired and the past was not quite an amusing topic, but into a world of which he didn't know whether he was allowed to acknowledge it. A world of doubts and conflicts that felt like spider webs in his brain.

But perhaps she couldn't see that at all. Perhaps he just wished she did. He had learned that humans could see things that weren't really there, if they really hoped they were. And hope was a dangerous thing. He stretched himself slowly and then patted on the spot next to him. She sat down, a little too close and a little too far away.

Perhaps believing she was reaching out to his world, whether it was true or not, was just another things that made him human.

"Nine and I are orphans. Gifted orphans, or hyper-intelligent, if you will." He felt tired. Whether the words tired him out even more or the previous work was still weighing on his shoulders, he couldn't tell.

"Twelve," Lisa's hand touched his knee and sparked what felt like electricity. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Or you don't have to do it now. I can wait."

She had these big brown eyes that were so plain and simple, so filled with something that could not be named in one word, something he could only describe as familiar to him. Surely other people didn't see or understand it. Just like they didn't understand a void wasn't always empty. All he could do was smile loosely at her as his chest tightened.

"We were taken by scientists to become test subjects. The goal of their project was to develop a new kind of humans, more intelligent and capable. They had some kind of new drug that could apparently further develop us into,"

Twelve held his breath for a moment. Nothing. No memories. No whirlwind of emotions. No craving for revenge or cry for justice. He inhaled deeply. The distance between him and his past had grown over the years and it felt like he had expected to cross it in a few seconds. The only sorrow he felt was the one that came with knowing Nine would never be able to think back and remain even half as calm as he did.

Lisa braced herself. He wanted to rest his hand on hers, as if she needed such comfort more than he did, but he didn't do anything. She shifted, and the shadows on her face played around. Everything had a yellow tone under the artificial light. When Nine wasn't at home and he felt well, he liked to cover everything in that yellow glow. The same one that reappeared in the back of his mind just that moment. "What happened?"

"The drug– or actually all the different drugs they gave us, slowly backfired on most of the children. One day we just wouldn't see someone anymore, and we knew they would never come back. The doctors and scientists never told us that. But we all knew what they did to us." He tapped a rhythm on the cushion, alike to one of those catchy songs he had heard on the radio. "Not that we knew a lot about the drugs or the goal of the project. But we knew they were killing us."

With every spoken word, he felt himself sinking away deeper into the couch. Every thought of the past seemed to drift apart quietly and peacefully. They dissolved in the ocean of Lisa's eyes. It all started to sound like just another part of a story, one that had already past and shouldn't be relived every single day.

"That's also why Nine and I have to be careful. You see, our bodies exist of chemical imbalances."

Lisa inhaled slowly. The touch of her warm hand on his knee was like a connection. She understood his calm words but even more so she understood his silence. Her eyes travelled back and forth over her hand. "Is that why you don't go to a hospital?"

"It is," He answered and ran his hand through his hair. Outside a drizzle had started and tiny drops of water kissed the window in shades of beige and light brown. How odd for the rain to have such a warm colour that evening. "Even as much as a painkiller can inflict quite some damage, or worse. Some stuff does work of course."

With her free hand, Lisa fiddled with her skirt. He wondered whether she was keeping herself from holding it against her belly. "Is that also why, I mean, I noticed that Nine only drank his soup, but left the noodles untouched."

"There are few things Nine can stomach. His digestive system is ruined. As for me, I have a chronic shortage of some things, but I can tolerate nearly anything." He refrained from going into the details, because things would only grow long and boring. His heart was beating vividly and his thoughts clear. He was wide awake, maybe even more than just awake.

"I'm sorry," She muttered.

He closed his eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again. His lips automatically curled into a smile. Pecks of soft brown tints were mangled with his thoughts. Time past slowly but surely and neither of them dared to move. He didn't mind. He inhaled deeply and then carefully rested his hand on hers.

Such a frail thing indeed.

* * *

Twelve lied in bed when a black streak ran over his mind. He opened his eyes, hazily lingering on the edge of consciousness. They were there. They ran out of Nine's mouth, darker than the night, like rats, searching for refuge in Twelve's head.

He was afraid to talk. To see that darkness escape from behind Nine's lips. To find his own colours fade into greys. Those were all he wanted to keep, keep them bright and lively. He didn't dare to speak, and instead desperately held onto his sleepiness. He hated it. Just like he hated to hear Nine suffer through his nightmares alone. All those words, smothered into a pillow; Twelve could hear the calls for numbers long gone and whispers of a fire extinguished in the world but forever burning in his head. Most of all there was that incomprehensible whimpering, words that didn't need to be understood for him to know they craved justice and vengeance. They were all ashes from the fire that was to this day devouring Nine.

* * *

The stairs were uncomfortable and cold, but they weren't the cause of the shiver that ran over his spine. He felt it tiptoe all the way down and chill him deeply. As much as he liked to throw things around, he wish he could fling his phone away to never look at it again. Or at least, he wished that would matter. His eyes ran over the text, again and again. _Five_. The thought of her presence, her wish to interfere with their life, was probably one of the only things that actually revolted and scared him.

Nine startled awake. It was noon, but the night had been long and the hours short for him. Twelve rarely asked him how he was feeling, because he knew the answer, but even his concerned "Nine," went unheard. It wasn't hard to tell something was up, and it was bad. Twelve threw the phone into the air and caught it just in time. That being done, Nine knew disaster awaited.

"I think you should rest," He said, even though Nine was already getting up.

He used to sleep without a T-shirt sometimes, certainly during the hot summer nights. Warmth had never been truly enjoyable to them. But since the train accident not a night had passed in which Nine hadn't worn anything to cover up the scars. Now too, he wore a dark grey tank top, just a few shades of blue from his voice. As if no one was supposed to see or know about it. Ignoring things in order to make them invisible was a little habit of him of which Twelve wasn't entirely sure he was aware of himself.

Twelve picked up glasses and threw them to Nine, who shot him a glare for throwing them but caught them and put them on either way. "She won't give us the time to recover."

"I know," Twelve stood up as well. He reached out his phone to Nine but didn't let it go if it when Nine tried to take it. "But that doesn't change that you should really rest."

Nine didn't understand. He thought in necessities, in time and effort, in planning and working. Care and love did not come to his mind when Twelve spoke to him, or anyone else for that matter.

A fake Sphinx message. It was only obvious that if they wouldn't do anything, no one would, and people would die. People would die and they would be blamed. It hit a highly sensitive string. And as if the two of them shared the same doubtless connection with Five, they knew that hitting that string had been exactly the purpose. Atop of that, all three of them knew it had succeeded very well.

"She wants to play with us," Nine said, putting the phone down and opening his laptop.

They were bombers, yet casualties were the very last thing they wanted. As for Twelve, that contradiction seemed the edge absurdness. Not that he wanted to murder people, but technically, they weren't the ones murdering anyone. Nine however approached it differently. He would believe himself to be a murderer. Just like those scientists. In such a tense and sensitive mind, loaded with traumas and stress, there was little room for that kind of guilt. And if Nine would break, Twelve feared only for the worst. He feared that Nine would become just like Five. Thus, for the sake of keeping the insane from going entirely mad, Twelve too would do anything to keep their hands clean.

The line between madness and murder, it was indeed a very brittle thing. But he had once heard that he had very steady hands, and learned that those could serve for more than creating and dismantling bombs. After all, frailty was what made it worth to keep going, wasn't it?

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**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it!**


	6. Child Play

**Episode 7 "Deuce". Or for those who don't remember numbers and titles: The airplane episode. Twelve's POV.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

The last thing they needed in their life was Five. All the distance they had built between them and the past, all the work they had been doing for a better future, all of that was suddenly on the edge of worthlessness. Because everything about Five was connected to the institute, as if her whole life was just a lengthening of it. Every move she made revolved around it, and even worse, around Nine. Her obsession was clear as daylight. Emotions were unknown to her, nor did she wish to experience them. And Twelve couldn't understand that. She defiantly held onto that insanity. To her, the most important thing in the world was to ruin not just her life, but theirs as well.

He glanced at Lisa, at her neatly combed hair that he remembered smelled like cherry blossom. A day or two ago he had bought her the orange top she now wore, because she had been running out of clothes. Admittedly, his fashion tastes weren't of outstanding quality, but he had yet to come across an outfit in which she didn't look beautiful. Maybe he would soon convince Nine to go shopping. Such trivial matters to think about, he knew. And yet he thought about them, as if pretending they were the most important matters would eventually make them so.

Lisa was no opponent for Five, but he smiled a little wider at the thought. Her humanity and weakness were just what made her the perfect addition to their team. The complete opposite of Five. She could finally become a real Sphinx member.

But Nine was panicking. Twelve realised how badly Nine was doing when the latter showed Lisa the aftermath of the train bombing, in an attempt to shoo her away. Of course, it was the truth and it was rather unappealing, but this move was in vain. Lisa had been there at their very first bombing and had accepted becoming an accomplice. Moreover, she had never truly seen them as terrorists. He recalled her saying very clearly that she wasn't afraid of them, and he held onto those words with religious devotion.

Her fiddling fingers curled into fists. "I want to become a part of your team."

He didn't give away his excitement as well as his concern for her engagement. First Five's attack, now Lisa's involvement. The second major change to their course in one day. The important things in life depended on fractions of seconds after all, didn't they?

Whilst travelling plans were already being made, Twelve turned his head to the opened window. The sky was filled with a bright and spotless blue. A hot breeze stroked his cheeks. All noises in the room merged into a fog.

Falling was a downward motion caused by an instability. When he had to describe those feathers, he would always say they were doing that, even though they were not going down and not instable. If he stood there and just gazed at them for long enough, he started believing that he was the one falling. Slowly and serenely. As if he had been falling all along. Yesterday too, he had seen them. They rose from an endless source, reflecting the sharp sunlight on their softness. And as peaceful and harmless as they seemed, he could feel them running over his back coldly. They filled up his body, made it thin and weak.

White feathers had never been a good sign.

Now was not the time for omens or hallucinations however, he thought, ignoring the ominousness settling down on his thoughts like a growing layer of dust. But things like that were easily said, weren't they? Perhaps he wasn't really within himself. Like a ghost, he lingered around his own body, where feathers had taken his place. He watched himself turn to Lisa. He listened to the words that rolled casually over his lips as he explained to her what she would be expected to do. Upon hearing the plan the colours were stripped off her face, and his invisible fingertips sunk into her pale complexion. Her hands shook, and when he tried to steady them their sweaty coldness tugged at him, gently trying to pull him back into himself. He told her it would be fine and watched his words fade into cool blues, swept away by feathers he tried not to see.

* * *

A chessboard appeared on the screens in the airport. All Twelve could think of was Five. That little child with dim eyes that sat with her knees pulled up. He remembered how she had once given him the impression that she shut down her body except for her brains in order to mentally unify with those little pawns and those silly squares of blacks and whites. Admittedly, Nine was scarily good at that as well, but at least Nine was more aware that right now they were playing on an airport with actual people.

They split up.

Twelve couldn't help but grin as he ran. He felt them. He felt the camera's focus catching him, those cold eyes that absorbed his every move. And then he disappeared. He knew the exact position of every one of those mechanical eyes and could tell the exact second they lost him. Their frustration, even though invisible to him at that moment, was without a doubt growing with every second that passed without him in their vision. It added a sprung to his step and cheekiness to his grin. He too, loved playing games.

But blind spots were the easy part. The fun started when the first police officer spotted him. A short chase, because within less than three minutes he passed that same policeman smoothly, dressed in exactly the same uniform. It was hard to keep a straight face when being so amused.

It was time for the third player to enter the game, he thought to himself as he plucked his phone out of his pocket. Nine confirmed that things were going according to plan, but Lisa sounded horribly stressed. The question was not so much whether she was capable of doing it, but whether she wanted to. So he asked, because it was her choice still. A choice that could possibly make her an actual accomplice to something rather ugly. The silence that ensued did not concern him because he knew her answer. But he didn't know why he held his breath.

"I'm alright," She finally said, "I'll do my best."

He wanted to tell her she was truly a lot stronger than she had ever allowed herself to believe, but the game was rolling. Sentiments were edgy when lives were at risk. Though he parted his lips, sticky words on his tongue, and impatiently tapped the back of the phone he held to his ear. He wanted to tell her something encouraging, or even just some advice like "stay calm" or "don't think too much about it" or "inhale deeply because everything hurts more when you hold your breath".

But he hung up, closing his mouth and inhaling the silence sharply. Sentiments would be reserved for after their victory. He promised himself he would just say all of that next time they spoke, after winning the game. He put his phone away and shivered unwillingly. He slipped into a dark room with plenty of cables and smirked. Soon, a certain somebody would learn not to take them lightly.

On his knees in front of the flickering lights and blue cables, he waited motionlessly. His finger was raised in mid-air, almost touching a bright button. Seconds passed in a silence that only added to his excitement. From his arms to his back to his legs, everything about his position was uncomfortable, but he didn't move an inch. He just listened closely. There it was. Faraway. The fire alarm. His finger had tapped the button in merely a split second. Lisa had done it. His heart skipped a beat. If he could have gone to her now he would have hugged on her and cried out in joy. But he sat still and watch the master plan unfold completely.

* * *

No bomb. No bomb. No bomb. The words echoed meaninglessly in his head. No bomb. No bomb. No bomb. Where could it be? Why couldn't they find it? The plan had succeeded. They had done everything that had been necessary exactly according to plan. Everything had gone fine. Then why weren't they winning? Nobombnobombnobomb.

Nine came and the two faced the puzzle with exactly the same sickening twist in their gut. Where did they go wrong? What clue had they missed? How could not one but two genies feel so blinded by an enemy they had nearly crushed just moments ago?

His phone buzzed. Lisa. Before answering he already knew that with a slide of his finger the terrifying answer to their problem would be revealed.

"Help me! I can't get out! The plane is moving!" White words. White. White. White. Light as feathers.

"Plane?" He uttered. He couldn't process it. He didn't want to. "Why are you on a plane?"

The light the back of his head made him cringe inwardly. He inhaled deeply, realising he had been holding his breath again. He told her to calm down. They would do something. Anything.

Nine had quickly understood just what was happening. That the airplane in which Lisa was, together with the bomb she had mentioned, was heading towards them, towards the main building, Gate 601. Thousands of people. One bomb. Lisa.

"That bitch." He could practically see that heartless infant in front of him. Hot anguish pumped through his veins. He turned to face the only person who could help him, the person who only he could help. Nine clenched his jaw. This day was going to leave its marks on both of them.

"If we cause a commotion here, the civilians will be evacuated from the airport."

Black words. Twelve thought he hadn't understood them. But he couldn't deceive himself. "What are you saying?" He breathed. That darkness. His mind was truly changing into a chess board of black and white strokes that bored into his chest like long, rusty nails. "What about Lisa?" He clenched his fists again. To beat a monster you did not have to become one yourself. Nine could not become like her. He wouldn't allow for that to happen. He would rather consider punching that idea out of Nine's head. "She's on the plane too, you know!" He spat, fists shaking and a long stinging ache in his ribs.

"Twelve." There was no place for ignorance between them anymore. Nine saw a cry for justice. One that Twelve hadn't ever shown before. But also one that Nine, no matter how painful, couldn't ignore. Because justice was what they were willing to die for. "There is one thing we could do."

Just as Nine finished his first direct conversation with the detective he was so particularly fond of, Twelve stopped behind him with their transportation. A part of him was ceaselessly grateful for Nine's flawless loyalty and support, in which he had switch to a much more dangerous plan that was much more prone to fail. But they were two bodies of one core, and would take on the world for each other.

Telling from the subtle smirk on Nine's lips, the first baby step to their grandiose victory had been made. The detective was working with them. He clung onto this bit of positive news as they drove off. That hint of a smile on Nine's lips burned in his memory, released him from that undeniable little peck of guilt for pushing Nine further to his boundaries. But they couldn't allow Lisa to die. Neither of them could've handled that death.

"Lisa, do you hear me?" He calmly said, "Do exactly as I tell you." While he explained what she had to do, he remembered their previous conversation. The idea of having to wait with tiny sentiments until he could speak face to face with her unsettled him. "It's going to be alright." He said, before he could convince himself again that he should trust the plan to go well. "Calm down." And then: "I'm sure you can do it."

She was there. She really was. Her head appeared through the opening. For a moment he had still wondered whether all of it wasn't a bad joke. But their eyes met and all he wanted to do was reach out for her and bring her to safety. Though, with the shaking vehicle underneath his own feet and its sharp noises, he wasn't sure whether safety was already within reach. The obstacles in their way didn't make it any easier, and when Lisa was thrown out of the plane he thanked the heavens she had tied the blankets so well. They neared her again as she dangled from the plane.

"I can't untie it!" White.

"We don't have time! Hurry up!" Black.

He shouted for her to jump when finally the cloth gave in and she was released from the claws of death. She landed right in his arms and the two of them fell back, crashing into the metal. The force with which they landed made him flinch and more than bruises were made. Without wasting another second they crawled back inside where Nine had carefully divided all his attention between steering and watching the airplane. Quickly all of their eyes were pinned on the giant bomb-holding machine. It was not that far away yet. Actually, it was still really close. Only a split second before the explosion did Twelve notice that it had been moving away from Gate 601 and the detective had indeed succeeded in his part as well.

The fire was gigantic and spewed smoking objects in all directions. After a few minutes in which the whole world seemed to hold its breath, they could finally allow themselves thoughts of a safe return.

Lisa dug her nails into his skin and pressed her face against his chest. She was trembling all over her body. Or was he? He wanted to pat her back and laugh but somehow his hands were wrapped tightly around her and they wouldn't let go. They embraced each other until it strained their already tired muscles, but that ache was hardly strong enough to draw any attention. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, wanting to drown himself in not just her touch but also her scent and her quick breath and most of all her warmth in his arms.

"Twelve," She smiled, "You're pretty good at catching, indeed."

The strings of gold that were interlocked with her words took him by surprise. With her forehead in the crook of his neck she laughed in relief. And like that she set off her very own bomb in his chest. One of butterflies with golden wings that cut sharply between his ribs, and a pain so sweet it was hard to breath between their laughter.

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	7. Lightness

Explosions. Screams. Commands. Sirens. Footsteps. Crashes. Car tires screeching over asphalt. Doors closing like thunder. The sounds merged until they became an indistinguishable wholesome. Sometimes glass shattered in her ears or shrill bells rung. The next moment they were gone and whether they had ever really been there, or were nothing more than a misplaced memory, would never be known. Gradually, the noises were smothered. They faded, until they were but ticks and bleeps. Ticks and bleeps that continued as irregularly and persistently as ever. It became hard to tell which sound came from the machines and which came from within her own mind. Every tick felt like a tap on her throbbing head. Every beep seemed to rouse an electric spark in her ears. The more attention she tried to pay to them, the more the sounds blurred together.

She opened her eyes but the world around her existed only of screaming whites. She blinked a few times but every glance pierced her head. How she hated that light. How nauseous it made her. Was she drifting on a sea that was stormy one moment and icily silent the next? Was she being swayed by a faceless mother? Was she awake? No. She inhaled but her head felt light and breathless. This was not reality. She was not conscious. She could not be. This could only be another damned hallucination. Again. Always the same game, wasn't it? She tried to laugh. Or maybe she didn't. Just wait. She just had to wait. Live through that constant strain that held her body in its grip. Listen to the bleeps that lulled her into death. She just had to wait. This was just a little fragment of misery that brooded in her guts. Just a bit of mould and rust that grew onto her ribs and bones.

A shadow hovered over her. It brought relief to her eyes and she stared at it without attempting to distinguish any features. If only things could stay like that. If only she could fall back asleep and slip away from all the light, never to wake up to it again.

A voice blew her tiredness away. She couldn't grasp the words or any meaning, but a spark was kindled and pulled another sort of strain on her body. She blinked feverishly, reaching out a hand towards the dark figure. It had no face and no name or personality; all she knew was that she needed it. Her head spun as she rose from her lying position. Gravity swayed around her and she tried to hold onto something. They had surrounded her. They had enclosed her. She had to flee but her thoughts were smothered by the ceaseless background noises. She had to clear her mind but only one word was sharp enough to distinguish itself from that hot strain. _Escape. Escape. Escape._

"You're going to listen to me and lie down right now."

The noise died away under those words. As soon as they were said, she had forgotten their meaning again. But that low, deep voice remained, resonating in her head. She could almost feel the flames around her again. Her skin tingled. Words from a child's mouth were chimed in her ear. _I don't need to escape._ She looked up to the two eyes of a stranger. Someone in a soldier uniform she didn't recognise. Someone. She was not alone. _I will not flee. _She closed her eyes and could almost feel herself being picked up in the air again. _I will face death, _she inhaled shakily and felt ashes burning in her lungs,_ and choose to live. _But she wasn't picked up. When she opened her eyes she saw no strange soldier, and she felt no arms holding her up protectively. There was no barrier between her and the non-existing fire. Instead, two hands pushed her down, separating her only from that whiteness.

"Clarence," She breathed, barely aware of her own words. "Clarence. Clare-" Her voice was so thin she couldn't hear it anymore. But her lips kept on moving. She didn't know whether she was making any noise or not.

"Be silent, Five."

She smiled. Or at least she tried to. The world grew quiet once again and delightfully still. Good old Clarence. Always ordering her around. But, when it came to action, he was the first one to disregard her disobedience. It was what she euphemised as a part of that "American Freedom". So, as she had always done, she ignored his warnings, orders, or whatever he liked to call them. She tried to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Five," He snapped, suddenly pinning her down harshly on the bed. He leaned over her. She had the impression that his anger floated in the air like pollen from a flower. It was hard to breathe. "One move and I will make sure you will not stir for the coming two days."

She grinned, but had already given in. All energy she had had just a moment ago oozed out of her body, leaving her behind just as tired as before but painfully conscious. Clarence leant back but held one hand on her arm, as if she would truly still be able to run off any given moment.

"Why, Clarence? I want to-"

"No." He interrupted her, something he rarely did. "You will not do anything."

The agitation in his voice charmed her. She cocked her head slightly, the usual teasing smile on her lips. "What happened?" He clenched his jaw. She couldn't guess what disasters were weighing down on him, but she could see how heavy they were, ruining his posture. Such slumped shoulders and dark circles; the gentleman was losing his perfect image. "Did one of our bombs go off?" Even though technically no one would be able to blame them, a man like Clarence would feel guilty. "Or did they escape? Did they humiliate us? Are the Japanese being inhospitable? Did your boss-"

"Enough," He sliced through her sentence, dooming the rest never to be said out loud. "If you dare to oppose me one more time, I will, I will-"

"Sorry, Clarence," She mused studying her spotlessly cleaned nails, "This is the part where I apologize, isn't it? Sorry for ruining whatever I ruined."

Suddenly his hand cupped her cheek. His knuckles were white but he resisted digging his nails into her skin. "Are you listening to me Five? You no longer have the permission to do whatever pleases you. No matter what clever plan you've got in mind. You will shut up and do exactly as I say." He spoke so quickly that she sometimes thought she might miss a word. Maybe he wasn't speaking that fast. Her head was still light and tingly.

"You're trying to make a puppet out of me? How mean," She gave him a defiant look, despite not having the strength to sound convincing.

His hand relaxed. She watched him. He searched for something, and with every passing second she knew that he wouldn't find whatever it was. It was too easy to tell that he knew this too. It just added up to all the times he had tried to find it before.

He let her go and turned away from her. Without another word, he stood up and headed out. He disappeared behind a white door and after that soft little click of the door closing, the wave of arrhythmic machine noises rolled over her again. The light blinded her and she felt herself sinking away in the hospital bed, but not quite deep enough. _I will not escape._

She tried to breathe. There was no oxygen in the air. Nothing to feed her body with. She couldn't move, and her limbs grew cold and stiff. _I will stay._

Her hollow head had become a playfield of noises. It sunk into her body until the throbbing numbness had filled her up completely. Only her chest remained suspiciously cold and still. No throb or ache there. And she wondered, without really wondering anything, whether she had a heart. _I will,_

She wanted to disappear. To fade away. To shut down. Was that too much to ask for? Of course it was. She couldn't, she couldn't. _I will,_

"Clarence," She breathed and closed her eyes, losing her thoughts amidst a sea of mawkish misery.

* * *

**Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, thank you!**


	8. Continuation AN

Hello dear reader,

Are you still into Zankyou no Terror? And you enjoyed this fanfic? Then I have some interesting news for you. I have a new account on fanfiction, username: **galaxic**. There, I will start posting a rewrite of this story. It will be pretty much the same story and events, only I will try to write it better. And also try to actually finish it. So if you liked this story then you might be lucky enough to see it _not_ end abruptly and halfway. "Between The Lines" is now called "**The Safety In Numbers**" and the first chapter is already up. Feel free to comment, ask or anything on this note or on the new chapter, or you can send me a PM through my profile.

I hope you have a nice day and enjoy your fanfic!


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